


And In My Mind You Were Everything

by Sootgremlins



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, just kinda soft, spoilers for lunden ark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sootgremlins/pseuds/Sootgremlins
Summary: There’s a sick feeling of guilt that pools low and heavy in his gut, curling like a deadly serpent with venom that leaches out into the rest of his body. Guilt from not protecting Tryggr, guilt for leaving people with questions, and guilt as he watches Erke quietly walk over to a chair before sitting down, he is selfish for freezing like this, Erke is grieving too and Stowe does not need to add to the list of things that need to be taken care of.
Relationships: Erke Bodilsson/Stowe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	And In My Mind You Were Everything

**Author's Note:**

> title from: hungry for your blues by benjamin tod :)

The smell of blood hits Stowe before he’s even set foot inside the room, a rolling coppery scent that overwhelms him before his mind catches up with the scene in front of him. This is hardly the first time he’s smelled blood like this, thick and heavy in the air, but Tryggr’s body still seated in his chair sends him to his knees almost before he makes the strides across the room to reach it. Erke is there with him, hovering at his shoulder with a wary glance towards the newcomer he's brought with him. 

He floats through the conversation that follows as if his mind is doing whatever it takes to detach itself from the conversation as he answers questions with the feeling of Erke’s eyes on him. He wants nothing more than to close his own eyes, go back to the feeling he had when he had rolled out of his bed that morning as if he could blink awake and find himself elsewhere. He is painfully awake now, and there is no place to escape from the smell of blood in the room.

As Eivor leaves he can hear the shouts from the crowd outside that send him flinching back into the present. He wants to stay, he needs to stay, he has a duty he has to perform and he will not fail Tryggr a final time. 

“Come with me,” Erke’s hand is on his arm, wrapped around the worn leather and pulling him away from Tryggr’s body. He wants to resist, to pull away and be left alone here in the blood-filled room. Instead, he finds himself being herded away, Erke’s gentle grip leading him further away from the smell of copper. He can't keep his thoughts in order, his mind racing through every situation he can come up letting them tangle together until he feels even more lost.

Unlike the walk from the gate to the villa, he doesn’t remember the distance between here and his home. Erke is pulling the key from a pouch on his belt, hands quick and measured as it turns in the lock before he guides him inside. He walks on his own to the edge of his bed, sitting down with his hands in his lap that he belatedly realizes are shaking slightly. His hands rarely shake, he had always had steady hands to handle a bow or sword and the sight of them serves to rattle him more. He grips them together tightly like he's about to pray even when no words come to mind.

There’s a sick feeling of guilt that pools low and heavy in his gut, curling like a deadly serpent with venom that leaches out into the rest of his body. Guilt from not protecting Tryggr, guilt for leaving people with questions, and guilt as he watches Erke quietly walk over to a chair before sitting down, he is selfish for freezing like this, Erke is grieving too and Stowe does not need to add to the list of things that need to be taken care of. 

“I do not know what we will do,” Stowe admits, the first words he’s mustered since speaking to Eivor inside. Erke sighs softly, his hands fiddling with a loose strap on his belt. The silence washes back over the room bathing the room in a stillness only broken by the scratch of the chair against the floor as Erke stands. He can count the steps he takes, four in total to cross over to the bed where he settles near Stowe. 

“We cannot know everything,” Erke says and it might be in his mind but Stowe can feel the warmth of him when he sits this close. It's like sitting next to the blaze of fire with flames that reach out to warm him. There is a hesitation to how he sits, he looks stiff and overcompressed to be sitting on Stowe’s bed, an image that under different circumstances might have stirred something else in his mind. 

Erke turns toward him, suddenly reaching out and Stowe finds himself being pulled against his chest. For a flash of a moment, it reminds him of when they were teenagers, awkward, scared, and painfully alone when it came down to it. Stowe had not been raised into the mannerisms that Erke had, touch and affection had not been commonplace until he found himself thrown into a new world with Erke who had brought many things to his attention he had never thought about before. He had fought a small war in his head even when they had been younger, a yearning for more of everything to do with Erke and the bubbling emotions of shame that chased behind it. It's a war he still finds himself fighting some days, and now feels no different. 

Even in moments when they’d fought over forgettable topics, disagreeing over decisions, he had always known that they would come back together in some way. They had always functioned as the head and tail of a coin, two different opinions and clashing ideas bound together. They had been bound together by Tryggr, his mind supplies and the thought sends more harsh emotion crashing over him.

He lets himself indulge now, safely tucked away in his own home with the barriers of his mind stripped away by stronger emotions. His fingers dig into Erke’s cape, rough fabric twisting between his fingers as he finds himself being pulled closer. It’s an awkward scramble of limbs for a moment, bulky clothing in a small space with limbs that can’t quite seem to find the right spot clashing together. 

Stowe takes a shuddering breath when he does settle, Erke’s arms squeezing tighter around him like they could chase the pain out of him with the air that leaves his lungs. 

“We will find them, Little Voice,” Erke says, and Stowe lets himself press his forehead into the crook of his neck, feeling the words against his throat and chest. He still manages to feel small next to Erke, despite the fact that their heights are similar enough when they stand next to each other. Erke had always had a little more muscle, the deep kind of strength that had never left him and the strength that Stowe had watched grow in him over the years. 

They had sparred together often, Stowe finding himself watching the way Erke’s arms moved when he was wielding a sword in the warmer months of the summer as their garments grew thinner than those that they wore in the winter. On the other occasions where he had seen him without a shirt, enough to send his eyes darting away in shame, his face hot in the way that it got when they argued but for a different reason. Now, they’re wrapped around him, running a soothing pattern on his back that feels grounding enough to keep him present.

“Thank you,” he whispers into Erke’s shoulder, who hums quietly in response, forgoing any normal jabbing remark that he might have come up with. His hand never stops its motion, gently tracing out something that is lost on Stowe. 

The smell of blood is gone here where he can only smell Erke, the scent of leather and sweat, and the city that clings to everyone like a fine coat. He likes to imagine he can smell the countryside when they would go riding together, like a fresh breath of air that makes his lungs swell and Erke laugh. Or the smell of smoke and home, what he imagines it would smell like if he could walk into his home and see Erke there waiting for him. 

He tells himself again that his mind only wanders to escape everything else that has happened. 

He lets himself stay there, tucked close against a comforting warmth, and eventually, Erke’s hand moves to his head, running through his hair with rough fingertips against his scalp. He had always wanted to do the same to Erke, secretly hoping that one night he’d have the excuse to offer to rebraid his hair into the beautiful patterns that Erke seems to manage on his own. His own hair must be boring in comparison, too short to ever need to braid or tie back, no excuse of his own to warrant any touches that he craved. Even as a boy he had kept it short, it had always been easier than way.

It feels like both no time and all the time in the world goes by before he makes himself pull back, his neck sore from resting in an odd position. Erke blinks at him, still silent as if waiting for his next cue. Stowe isn’t sure he has one to give.

“If you need to return to Tryggr now, just promise me,” Erke pauses like he’s unsure of how he wants to finish, “Just promise me you will not push yourself further than need be.” Stowe wonders if that was what he really wanted to say, suddenly desperate to read between the lines. 

“Of course,” he answers finally, distracted by the way that he is still halfway seated in Erke’s lap. In all honesty, the selfish little part of him would like to curl back up on his bed and slip away into sleep for a few hours, and the desperate part of him wants Erke to stay with him.

Instead, he just watches Erke nod, satisfied enough with his answers that he’s off the hook for the moment. The front door feels like his last defense between him and the real world when he steps out and has to go fulfill his duties. The real world where Erke will step away from him and pretend, perhaps only for Stowe’s sake, that everything would be normal again if they tried hard enough. He’s not sure if that is what he wants him to have to do.

He can still feel the ghosts of fingers in his hair, his body still warm from where it was pressed to Erke’s. It feels as if he’s just another ghost to haunt him. Although, this one is not entirely unwelcome.

Erke looks like he still wants to say something, holding his tongue, if only barely. Stowe reaches out and lets his hand frame the side of Erke’s jaw, craning his neck up so he can place a soft and ever so brief kiss on his forehead. It turns the snake in his stomach into something more like a bird fluttering around his ribs, and he aches to give more if that would keep the bird a flight in his chest. Erke’s face softens, he looks so happy that for a moment Stowe can picture them in another time doing this at their own speed, no worry of outside forces taking anything away from them.

It feels good, he feels more whole even just for the minute and there is nothing more in the world that he wishes to have than the stones to kiss lower on Erke’s face and taste his lips. It feels like Erke can read every emotion on his face, as he turns his head and presses a kiss into the palm of his hand. 

“Go to Tryggr, I will find you later,” Erke murmurs, and Stowe can feel the air breeze over his wrist before he pulls his hand away. He can hear people on the street outside, the general thrum of the city that he knows will soon grow to a low roar of gossip and discord the longer he takes to himself. 

He lets himself steal one more moment with Erke before he rises off the bed, his legs finally stretching. Erke stays seated, gaze following him as he makes his way to the door before he finally rises. His smile is still soft and knowing, and Stowe would like to capture that look and keep it tucked away for himself forever if he could. 

He opens the door and steps out into the street, but his mind feels quiet enough to carry him back to the villa.


End file.
